


sing anyway

by TLvop



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Worldbuilding, movie canon only, pre-amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:45:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5338001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TLvop/pseuds/TLvop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"So," Minho said, into the silence. "The world's a total fucking wreck. I still want to date you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	sing anyway

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quackyeon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quackyeon/gifts).



> I haven't read the books, so this is based solely on information available in the movies and to a limited extent a couple interviews I caught. From what I've learned, the pertinent difference: I interpret our protagonists in the Glade as being in their early 20s at the time of canon, and Alby having arrived in the Glade around or just under 5 years before Thomas.
> 
> Many thanks to my betas: a ninja, and Genarti.

**1.**

The transpo was loud. Minho had thought he'd known how loud it would be, after hearing them fly in and out of WCKD's Florida base all the time, but that wasn't anything like being in one. The noise sort of sank into him, vibrating him to his core, like his teeth were amplifiers. It might have been better if Winchester or Mackenzie were around, calm enough to anchor even people on planes, but like the rest of Minho's friends they hadn't made it past the final test. Apparently, that wasn't unusual – there'd been a lot of only-sort-of Immunes in Florida, keeping them safe from the Scorch. Now the whole Florida base with high enough levels was being moved out, between these two planes, and out of the thousand-something kids who he'd been surrounded by until yesterday, there... weren't that many. Twenty-seven, in this transpo, and he didn't know a single one. Well, there was Alby, he supposed. The older kid -- man, by now -- had come in when Minho was ten. They weren't really friends, but he had stood out. New kids hadn't been that common after the first couple years.

He crossed his arms over his knees and leaned over as far as the chest restraint would let him. Fang Wu would have laughed at him, accused him of trying to nap even in a plane, and Winchester would've figured it out and just pretended it wasn't happening, and Meredith would've been too busy thinking about how to take the plane to pieces and re-assemble it to have any comment, and they would have _been there_.

Minho was sixteen years old. He could deal with this. It was just another test.

Everything was a test.

He closed his eyes and imagined the Florida center. He could see it, all gray walls and slightly antiseptic smell. It was weird, maybe, but comforting -- loud and filled with kids, or unexpectedly quiet between classes if you were sent on an errand or with a message from one teacher to another. He could traverse the whole complex in ten minutes, if none of the major doors were locked. And if they were... well, he could find his way around.

He breathed out, hot against his knees, the sound swallowed by the plane. Soon enough, he'd have a new building to learn. That was something he could do.

 

\--- 

 

Nobody was really paying attention after they were first assigned their bunks, so Minho tossed his backpack on the top bunk two in from the door and was immediately on his way out the room. Alby stopped him with two fingers on his shoulder.

"Just looking around," Minho said, raising his hands, and smiled.

Alby watched him before nodding and letting go. "Don't get lost out there."

"Yes, sir," Minho said while backing up and, when Alby rolled his eyes, he added a sloppy salute. He turned and headed out the door.

The walls here were gray, too, but kind of a gray-brown instead of home's gray-blue. The halls were narrower and there were more of them, branching back and forth. Minho took every left hallway he encountered, for lack of a better strategy. Left – left – left – left – long straightaway – and finally left. There was a brief, loud buzzer on his final left and he automatically flattened himself against a doorway, looking sideways to see what the buzzer had sounded for. There was the sound of a group of kids, and Minho relaxed.

"Lasagna," one crooned happily, and Minho could hear her before her group even passed. She was tall and had thrown her arms around her friends. "Lasagna, food of the gods."

"Right," said one of them, a guy. "Food of the gods, which we have every Tuesday."

Then they passed, and Minho didn't catch the rest of the conversation in the crowd of maybe fifty kids that followed. He slid in on the side, where it was probably busy enough that no-one would notice him joining, as crowded as they were on all edges.

Lasagna sounded good. It certainly wasn't something they had every Tuesday in Florida.

When they made it to the cafeteria, everyone lined up in a more-or-less orderly fashion, and Minho glanced around. His group wasn't there and the cafeteria wasn't big enough for another group, already two-thirds full when this one got there.

The guy in front of him, blond, turned around after having grabbed a roll at the end of the line and bitten into it. "Hey," he said, muffled, brows drawing down.

He swallowed his piece of roll.

"Hey," Minho said, and smiled.

The guy tilted his head up to look at Minho, then glanced at the guy in line behind him and jerked his head. Once Minho moved to follow him, balancing his tray, he said, "You're from one of the new cohorts?" Even without the roll in his mouth, he had an accent, and not one Minho'd ever heard in real life.

"Yeah," Minho said, "I just came in from Florida. Heard you guys were having lasagna..."

The guy he was following snorted.

"Who's this guy?" said the kid already sitting at the table they were headed towards. The tables were small, like study tables instead of the long ones at home.

"He followed me home, Gal." The guy he’d followed slid down the bench next to him, and Minho sat opposite. He tilted his chin up again. "What is your name, anyway?"

"Minho."

The other kid, having accepted he was joining them, dug back into his food.

"Well, I'm Newt, and this is Gally. He doesn't bite." Gally snorted and glanced at Newt, mouth full. "He doesn't bite unless you give him reason," Newt clarified, "and the only person who did punched him in the face, so don't believe the rumors." He took another bite of his roll.

"Sure," Minho said, looking between them. To Gally, he added: "Remind me not to punch you in the face."

Gally grinned. "Yeah," he said. "All right."

 

\--- 

 

When Minho got back to the dormitory, Alby was waiting for him. He was leaning against Minho's bunk, mouth tight and eyes tired, and Minho felt a little guilty. "Hey," Alby said. "You weren't back for lunch."

Minho glanced around. The other kids were in small groups, talking, or trying to cat nap. "Yeah, I caught it with another cohort." Alby nodded. "Are they looking for me?"

"Told them you weren't hungry, a little airsick. They're running us through medical testing real soon, though. They want to get their own baselines, or something – apparently Paige is coming in to tell us about it tonight."

"Paige?" Minho asked, and whistled airlessly. Dr. Paige had been a medical researcher since pretty much forever, in his books, but in the past year she'd become the main face of WCKD. She had monthly broadcasts to the kids and was always somewhere between a comforting authority figure and kind of creepily distant. Maybe that was just how he'd always felt about her, though, since he was six and her hand had been cold on his cheek. Maybe nobody else felt like that. "Okay," he said. "Thanks."

Alby straightened. "Just... take care of yourself."

 

\--- 

 

The second Florida group, Minho's, was one of the last to move into the large conference room after testing. The only seats still available were scattered around the room, and Minho and Alby exchanged glances as more kids came in behind them. Alby retreated for the back row.

Minho hesitated, scanning the conference room. He scratched at the bandage around his elbow as he was buffeted by the other kids pushing past him to find their own seats. He didn't recognize _anyone_. Then he heard "Hey! Minho!" and from the crowd a long arm shot up.

It was Newt, the guy from the cafeteria. He had an empty seat next to him and Minho relaxed. He nodded, and made his way over, scooting down the row. "Hey," he said, quietly, as he sat down. He looked sideway down the row to see that Gally was there, and a couple of kids who'd said hi briefly to Newt in the lunch room.

Newt clapped him on the shoulder. "All right, guys," he said to the row, in an undertone. "This here's Minho. He's from Florida. Minho, you're sitting next to Winston, and that's Rachel. Over here..."

Everyone waved, slightly, or whispered hushed _hey_ s. Minho catalogued faces with names – it seemed pretty much everyone Newt ran around with was about their age, 16-ish, but it was hard to tell.

Then Dr. Paige walked into the room. It was quiet, she just walked in through a side door, but it felt like the whole room noticed her. There wasn't really silence, but everything sort of quieted into a low buzz of kids shifting awkwardly and occasionally muttering things to each other.

"Hello," Dr. Paige said. And then, as if they didn't know: "My name is Ava Paige. I've been one of the head medical researchers with WCKD since we first started studying the Flare, and I've recently been appointed Vice-Chancellor." There was a quiet murmur, though Minho was pretty sure he wasn't the only one who didn't really know what that meant, practically speaking. Paige waited for it to peter out. "Enough about me – we're here to discuss your futures. We originally believed your immunity to the Flare to be uninfluenced by outside factors, which left some of you open to the Flare infection in large enough quantities of exposure. However, we've recently made the discovery that certain stimuli may increase your protection against the Flare." The audience of children had gone completely silent. She smiled. "It's to this end that we've gathered you here in this facility. While we won't be allowing you to completely bypass your studies," she said, almost indulgently, "we will be involving more group tasks and exposing you to unusual circumstances to see if we can isolate which stimuli best help your bodies increase their natural protection. As ever, we're working in your best interest."

"Sure," Newt said, quiet enough that Minho thought he and maybe Gally were the only ones who caught it.

Minho wasn't really certain what Newt was reacting to. He didn't get the science stuff, not really, and he actually liked school – at least shooting, and shop class, and some of the engineering stuff – but _unusual circumstances_ sounded interesting. Interesting was better than a lot of things.

"We'll be beginning new dormitory assignments tomorrow, and cohorts will be rearranged every few weeks. To help in this transition, I've asked two of our top performing students to take leadership positions." She motioned and two teenagers got up out of the front row, walking forward and turning. They were both pale, with brown hair – they could've been siblings, if Minho hadn't known them long enough to know they weren't.

Thomas and Teresa, WCKD's favorites. WCKD used them in instructional videos for classes a lot of the time. Minho was pretty sure they travelled with Paige.

Winston made a gagging noise.

"Nah, they're – Thomas is all right," Minho said. He'd not really ever gotten to know Teresa, beyond running some track together. She'd kept to herself. She wasn't _bad_.

"You know them?" Newt asked, in an undertone.

Minho hesitated. His mom had worked with Dr. Paige, before the Flare, so – yeah, he'd known them. He was one of the first kids in the program, before it'd been decided he wasn't special enough to keep in the inner circle and he'd been shuffled off to Florida. But you couldn't say that, it wasn't – it was weird, and being weird wasn't good.

"A little."

"Hi," Teresa said, a little over-loud in the microphone. She drew back and smiled awkwardly at the crowd. "I'm Teresa, this is --"

"Thomas," Thomas said, with a casual wave to the crowd.

"We're looking forward to working with you. We won't be replacing the WCKD guardians, of course, but I know it can be hard to approach adults with smaller questions, so please feel free to find us if you have any. I'll have a room in the girls’ wing."

"We'll be taking classes and doing experiments with you, too," Thomas added, "so we look forward to getting to know you better as cohort mates." He paused, then added in a hurry, "Oh, I'm taking the guy's wing. Uh – was that obvious? That was obvious."

Minho resisted rolling his eyes; Teresa didn't.

They handed their mics back to the techs by the stage and the group as a whole was dismissed by rows, starting at the back. Being in a row near the middle, they had a little time to talk.

"They're not going to split us up, though," Gally said, a little fierce. "They care too much about social structure."

" _Do_ they care?" Rachel asked. "I mean, honestly, do you think they give a rat's –"

"Yeah," Newt said, quiet but set. It cut Rachel off, immediately. "I think they do care. Disturbing set patterns... that's the point, isn't it?"

Minho didn't know. He studied Newt, interested at the idea even of trying to find a point behind what WCKD did.

 

**2.**

They only spent eight months at the facility before plans were put into place to move them somewhere with a more specialized set up. Not by transporter, this time – by some train run on magnetic tracks.

The train was strange on multiple counts. The first was that Minho had never been on a train, the second was _who used trains_ , and the third was its narrow corridors and barely wider rooms he could see through the few open doors.

"Are you _positive_ you don't see E27?" Newt muttered. Normally he could see over Minho (at least for now – Minho was pretty sure he was catching up), but the halls were too narrow to really catch a serious glimpse of anything if you weren't in front.

"Definitely just fucking with you," Minho replied, cheerful. "We walked right past it, three cars ago."

Newt snorted, unwillingly amused, and Minho grinned to himself.

The last few doors in this car were already open and Minho caught the sound of Thomas talking quietly to Gally.

"E27," he said, instead of continuing to eavesdrop, elbowing the door further open. "Hey, bunks!"

He dropped his duffle and backpack, grabbed the edge of the bed and pulled himself up to the top bunk. As Newt crashed onto the bottom bunk, he observed the rest of the room. The window (window!) was narrow and heavily tinted against UV. It was made of the type of multi-layered glass or polycarbonate or whatever that the windows in the facility were – made to stand up to gunfire, or Cranks. There was only barely walking space between the bunks and the dresser, and Newt had taken advantage of this to use the top of a drawer as a foot rest.

"Hey." Gally was leaning against the doorway, a quietly irritated look on his face. He glanced from Newt to Minho. "You want to trade? You're friends with the –" Minho raised his eyebrows slightly, to indicate Thomas standing in earshot in his own doorway. "– guy."

Minho hesitated. "Can we... do that?"

"He figures we can get away with it," Gally said, and raised his eyebrows sarcastically.

He was probably right. WCKD made no secret of the fact that Thomas was still their favorite. Thomas was all right, Minho just....

Without an immediate response, Gally's eyes dropped to Newt, and Minho waited for the calm reason Gally was right. Instead, there was a sigh. "Aw, come off it, Gal. You two can make nice for two weeks. And Minho and I've already set up house. Haven't we, Min?"

"Picked out the curtains and everything," Minho replied, relieved.

"I hate you," Gally said, but he said it to Newt, so that was all right.

 

\---

 

It wasn't two weeks: it was three months. The reason, apparently, that they hadn't used a train before was because of all of the sand on the tracks which interfered with the magnets. They'd built a new type of car that went in front of the train, fitted with a big vacuum to pump the sand in the front and out the sides, and it worked great. Until it died.

It wasn't an absolute disaster. Not at first, at least – not until the Cranks found the train.

There was gunfire, and bright lights through the thick glass, and the thumping and scratching of bodies. Helicopter blades whirred loud above them. Movement between cars stopped except for weekly supply runs. Kids cried, and maybe people not really young enough to be kids cried, and everyone waited anxiously – for the train to start again, or for the Cranks to break in and kill them with their hands and teeth. Technically there were adults who were supposed to be in charge, but they were too busy trying to fix things, so it fell on the kids. Thomas and Gally ended up working together: Gally took on distracting the kids hands on, starting self-defense training, and Thomas incessantly pestered the adults until their supplies started including things like televisions, so they could get reports and movies piped back, books, so they could read to each other out loud because it was impossible to concentrate inside of your head. The rest of them helped, as much as they could, though some of them broke down, unable to cope with the constant noise and the people. They got their own shared room, which was quiet and had mattresses on the floor and over the window, to deaden the noise. Eventually, they got earplugs, too -- once Newt yelled at Thomas for forgetting about them, after failing to get any of the adults to listen when he tried to get stuff for them himself. All of it was distraction: the televisions, the books, the self-defense lessons. Wrestling wouldn't do shit against Cranks. But it made people feel better, and Gally got good at breaking up fights.

Eventually, the WCKD crews came through and installed metal sheets over all of the windows. It didn't take away the noise, it almost seemed louder with the vibration of the metal to echo it, but it presumably gave them a little bit of safety.

Still, the top bunk stopped being just Minho's, because they'd donated their bottom mattress. The bottom one because maybe the top bunk would only keep them safe for ten seconds longer, but it felt safer that the bottom bunk. He felt safer, too, with Newt beside him on the mattress, double-layered in their blankets, talking about stuff from when they were kids. Only a little bit of pre-Scorch stuff, but... stuff. Old doctors, non-Immune friends, classes they'd filled their time with. Minho liked listening to Newt talk, but he tried not to think about what it meant that Newt apparently liked spending time with Minho just as much.

There weren’t any medical trials on the train – it wasn't set up for it. But as time passed, the televisions started to have video lectures piped in along with the movies. The movies switched to kids cartoons only, after a couple of weeks. Some of the Immunes were young enough that Jurassic Park had freaked them the hell out.

(Minho, of course, found nothing creepy about velociraptors, thanks. That was Thomas just entirely failing to understand the fact that Minho trying to hide behind him was a joke. He'd been joking, all right?)

But at night, after a long day of managing everyone else's fear, Newt and Minho would lie in bed, cocooned warm, and sometimes even manage to win some sleep.

 

\---

 

When they finally arrived at the new facility, it was clear it had been built or extensively remodeled for their use – extensive labs, gym spaces, and so on. Otherwise, it was a bit of a letdown. The inside walls weren't white or yellow, not really, but they certainly weren't anything else. There weren't windows, though after the experience on the train that might not have been such a bad idea.

There was a central hallway in the dormitory wing, which led to a cafeteria. Every other door led to a hallway, and each of those hallways had the bedrooms and showers and restrooms. Every hallway door was lockdown-capable, as a precautionary measure. Minho didn't wonder about that – more than fifty non-Immune kids had been infected with the Flare, once, in Florida. None of them were Cranks before they were quarantined, but it wasn't worth the risk – not with all the non-Immune techs around.

The other reason it was clearly different, when Thomas would drag him out of study hall to jog the corridors, flashing a security badge every so often, was the number of laboratories and places specifically for testing – gymnasiums full of foam obstacles, and simulators that were like full-immersion video games, and all sorts of weird tech.

"Well," Minho said early on, while they explored one of the rooms. "This might actually be fun."

Thomas was balancing carefully, preparing to leap from one cushioned bollard to another. "What do you mean _might be_? It already is."

 

\---

 

Minho knew the test was weird when he walked in. The room was big and empty except for the technicians, and everyone from his cohort was there but the kids. Frypan was probably the youngest and Minho knew he'd turned 16 last month. Weird.

Everyone'd been escorted in by a technician, not just him. When the stream into the room stopped – Immunes and their attendant techs staggered semi-randomly around it, the observing scientist cleared his throat.

Minho looked from him to Newt, half-way across the meeting room, standing awkwardly apart from his tech, arms crossed. He returned the look and rolled his eyes.

Minho grinned.

"You will be exposed to a gaseous agent that has been calibrated to your body mass," the scientist said. "It has been proven entirely safe, though it has a tendency to cause some mild behavioral changes. You may also experience some mild nausea, though that should dissipate with the effects. Any questions?"

"Yeah," Alby said. "What's the timeline?"

"Depending on your individual metabolisms, the agent should be eliminated in ten to fifteen minutes."

Alby watched the scientist for a long moment. He nodded. The scientist smiled, looked around the room once more, and left.

The noise of the gas masks being removed from the techs' belts was individually quiet, probably, but in unison it was loud.

His tech brought the mask to his face and Minho helped her line it up to his mouth. But then she held it there, one hand on his shoulder. "Breathe," she coached him, quietly.

He looked again for Newt, but he was hidden now, except for what was probably his shoe.

He breathed.

At first it didn't seem like anything, maybe foggy air, like after a rainstorm back before the Scorch. But as he kept breathing he became more and more aware of every point of contact between the tech and him, how long she'd been holding onto him, how _awkward_ it was, and how hard it was to not move—then he convulsed, once, hard, and she let go.

Minho didn't see where she went. He gasped in big lungfuls of clear air, stumbling backward until he hit a wall, and slid down it.

People were talking. He could hear people talking, or arguing – yelling – singing -- but all he could do was stare in surprise at his knees for giving out on him. His shirt was hot, far too hot, he started to scramble at the edges.

"Minho," Newt said, voice a little hoarse and a little rushed. "Min, _Min_."

Minho looked up. Newt was already shirtless and sweating despite it, resting in a crouch beside him, and he grinned brilliantly when they made eye contact.

"Hey," Minho said, grinning back, infinitely relieved just to see him, and – this was not the time, was it? It wasn't ever the time, there were – he gave that thought up before Newt even made it to his lips, hands reaching over to grab Newt's face, to pull himself up so they were on a level, and Newt's hands went to his arms to stabilize him for a moment but let go and tucked under his shirt before Minho was really actually stable but _he didn't care_ , Newt's hands on him were better than stability—

Minho cut off the kiss. "Fuck, I'm hot," he said.

Newt laughed, loud and unfettered and unlike himself, eyes bright.

Minho shoved him over, Newt still laughing, and tore off his shirt as hastily as he could. It only kind of helped, but Newt grabbed it as it came over his head and tugged as well, pulling Minho on top of him as he did.

Newt let out a puff of air and Minho laughed into his sternum, staying close as he made his way to his mouth.

Minho kissed his neck, just to hear Newt cuss him out, both of them still laughing, then there was a loud noise and Newt froze.

It'd been the sound of someone being thrown against one of the concrete walls. From the heated conversation, it sounds like Gally was pissed that someone had run into him, but that wasn't important, because Newt was gasping airlessly.

"Breathe." Minho said, low and steady, putting his elbows against the ground to make a protective cage. "They won't let anybody get hurt, not really."

It took Newt a while to speak, and when he did his voice was a whisper: "They know. _Fuck_. It's not just – Minho, this isn't – because of the drug, _they're not doing this_ , so it's – I don't know, lowered inhibitions."

"Of course they know," Minho said, bemused. "I mean, they caught us –"

" _And gave us a warning_ \-- fuck, where's my shirt."

"I don't know." Minho went to roll off of Newt, to look for it, before being grabbed by the arm to keep him down. Newt pushed forward to kiss Minho's shoulder, gently, and Minho let himself be pulled into a much softer kiss. Newt looked really, genuinely scared.

"Why's it so bad?" Minho asked, in the quiet after.

"You've seen the Scorch, how few resources WCKD's actually got," Newt said, voice steadier. "Do you really think they don't just throw rejects back out there?"

"They can't." But Minho's stomach twisted. "That's not – "

Newt was silent.

"You can have my shirt," Minho offered, instead.

"No," Newt said. "That's worse." After a moment of silence: "Thanks."

Newt let go of Minho's arm and Minho rolled off of him, lying on the ground. He felt heavy – exhausted. From where he was, he could see a pile of people lying near each other, and a few people by themselves, and Harriet and Sonya cuddling.

Minho heard a noise and looked up. Gally, face starting to bruise and knuckles bloody, had dropped Newt's shirt on him before pulling on his own.

"Thanks, Gal," Newt said, and Gally sat down beside him, Newt’s knees acting as a sort of backrest. Gally sort of ignored Minho, but that was okay. He did that sometimes. "How's the other guy look?"

Gally shrugged. "He got a lucky punch, but I won."

Minho sat up, too, and pulled on his shirt. He looked across the room – Thomas was nursing a few bruises himself, near Teresa who was staring blankly at the far wall.

"Alby was singing show tunes with Winston," Gally added. "Like, real Broadway stuff."

"I went to Broadway, once," Newt said, absently. It was old news.

Minho whistled, jokingly awed, and Gally glanced backwards to grin at him.

"It's not my fault if I'm the only one here with culture." Newt had relaxed a little, grinning, as if seven year olds who went to see some musical about lions counted as cultured.

"Right," Gally said. "We're all really impressed."

The techs came back in and they got up. Minho glanced at Newt, who stiffened at their arrival. He threw a glance almost in Minho's direction, then looked back to his tech and waved. Gally nodded to Minho, at least, before sticking with Newt as they walked forward to leave for the south laboratory.

Minho's tech walked him into the west laboratory with about ten other kids, Frypan included. Frypan seemed out of it, doing what his tech told him but otherwise not really moving. With some maneuvering, Minho managed to get seated in the chair closest to him. After the first round of saliva swabs, which typically they got in five minute intervals after biological tests, both of their techs left to get the electrical sensors. Minho leaned over.

"Hey, man," he said. It didn't get a response. "Hey, Frypan."

Frypan looked over at him, shaking himself out of whatever it was. "Hey, Minho."

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Frypan said, automatic, then hesitated. "I mean – nothing happened."

Minho watched him for a moment more and nodded. "All right. If any of that nothing's a problem, though, you know – "

"Yeah, I'll talk to – one of you guys. Th—" The techs had come too close and Frypan cut off to smile at his.

The EEG sensors stuck in Minho's hair, even though he'd just had it buzzed short the week before to make it easier. Newt stood by the importance of a protective layer of hair 'against the elements,' but most of the guys figured a slight chill was worth the relative lack of pain.

Minho bit the interior of his lip before consciously letting go under his tech's gaze.

"Relax," she murmured. "I need to line these up, and it will be easier if your muscles aren't tight."

"Yeah. Sorry."

 

\---

 

The rest of the day was free after medical, so Minho went to the gym to run. Thomas was there, jogging shirtless, a look of determination on his bruised face, until he caught sight of Minho changing into gym shoes.

"Hey!" he said, brightly, slowing down on his treadmill. "Race you?"

"I haven't even had time to warm up," Minho replied, grinning at him. "You worried I'd win?"

Thomas let out a puff of air. "I just got my face beaten in, I need _some_ advantage."

"He didn't _beat it in_ ," Minho said. "And he wouldn't have, if you'd– "

"Avoided him like my life depended on it?"

That wasn't what Minho had been going to say, but he didn't know how to verbalize the thought. Gally and Thomas were kind of friends, most of the time. They weren't friends like Gally was with Newt, or even Minho or Rachel or even Aris or Chuck, but… kind of friends. They got along well enough to work as a team when they needed to. But he knew why Thomas got on Gally's nerves, even if it didn't really bother him. Thomas just knew all the scientists, because he'd grown up with them. And they liked him, because he was a likable guy and because they'd known him just as long as he'd known them. But the fact remained that Gally didn't really pick fights with anyone else, not since he'd had to keep the peace during the rising tensions in the confines of the train.

He shrugged, casual and open, accepting Thomas's read on the situation. Thomas grinned, then immediately winced.

 

\--- 

 

Thomas unlocked the food pantry to get them both dinner-on-the-go after winning the race, because he could get away with it and Minho wasn't too enthused about going to the cafeteria. He didn't expect Gally to be at the dorm when he showed up, assuming he'd end up with Winston as his substitute roommate. It wouldn't have been the first time Newt and he'd traded roommates, if either Gally or Newt was having a rough day. Family was family. But instead of Winston, there was Newt, sitting cross-legged on the top bunk and working on homework.

"Hey," Minho said, closing the door carefully behind him.

"They say that's for horses," Newt replied, but it didn't register with Minho as a joke, as distractedly as Newt had said it, until he was already at his desk. Newt didn't look up.

Well, he didn't look up then. Minho felt his eyes on him while he set his stuff down and tucked the gym clothes into his laundry hamper, relieved he’d changed at the gym until waiting to get back to his dorm. He turned, casual as he could, and leaned against his desk.

Newt was still watching him, entirely unreadable to Minho. Sometimes he almost wished he was Gally, just so he'd have enough extra data to figure out what was going on.

"England's not a thing anymore," Newt said.

Minho waited for Newt to continue the thought, but he didn't. His mouth thinned instead, as he inspected the wall above Minho, and after a minute Minho shifted.

"Yeah," he said. Newt's gaze sharpened, centered back on him. "I mean, I _know_." The U.K. hadn't been caught in the worst intensity solar burst, but that just meant that the toeholds of life had hung on long enough to die from injury and starvation before the Flare had even had time to show itself.

"You really don't."

"Oh, right. Like Korea's not a blasted piece of rock?"

Newt snorted, and didn't look away. "You're from Tampa."

That was true. Minho shifted again, sitting on the surface of his desk as he scratched the back of his head. "All right," he said. "England's gone, and I don't get it. What's that got to do with anything?"

Newt shrugged, mouth creasing. "I don't know, man, I just – it's important. It's not –" He hesitated and glanced to the hall as if he expected a worker to come by and tell him to get back to the right room. Usually that didn't happen, now that their rooms were in the same hallway. Security didn't work that hard, not unless you were in the halls after lights out.

Minho walked forward and grabbed the edge of the bunk, pulling himself up. Newt closed his notebook in his textbook and leaned back against the wall. His head made a quiet _thump_ noise against the plaster. He had moved over a little, to make room, but not far enough that Minho could comfortably sit anywhere except close, their knees and elbows bumping.

Minho breathed out and inspected his socks, forearms resting on his knees. After a while, Newt relaxed a little, leaning some weight into him.

"So," Minho said, into the silence. "The world's a total fucking wreck. I still want to date you."

There was a long, startled moment. Newt puffed out an amused breath. "Yeah? Where the hell would we go?"

"There's plenty of places. We could have picnics in my room. Or your room. Or Thomas's room, if we got extravagant. I bet we could get – "

Newt cut him off by shifting, putting his hand against Minho's knee, and kissing him.

It was more awkward than during the test, with them hovering for a moment, trying to figure out how to align themselves, and Minho trying not to lean up into it in case he managed to push Newt off of the bunk, but it was a kiss. And, in Minho's admittedly limited experience, it was a good one.

They were quiet for a long moment afterward, staring at each other. Newt's eyes were wide, but so were Minho's, and neither of them was breathing steadily, though Minho didn't know if he had the same light flush across his face as Newt had. He was nervous, maybe, but Minho didn't think Newt was any more panicked than he was.

"So," he said, hopeful. "Can I assume that's a yes? Because I can—move the books to a safer place, if you want to try that again."

"Yeah," Newt said, and smirked a little. "Yeah, I guess so."

Minho immediately leaned back, grabbed the textbook with the notebook tucked inside it, and slipped off the bunk to land on the floor. Newt started to laugh as he fell back onto the mattress – quiet, and aware of how noise travelled, and happy.

Minho grinned.

 

 

**3.**

At first, the new dormitories were a treat. A reward for scoring in the top 25% of the Immunes, in various things – gym, engineering, other stuff probably, it's not like they had annotated lists of reasons. Good behavior probably counted, but maybe not that much.

They were small, the new dorms, but single-person with a bed and a desk and even a fabric swivel chair instead of the hard metal ones in the other rooms.

Thomas and Teresa had made it to the new dorms first, obviously. Then Sonya, then Newt, then Alby – then Minho stopped keeping track, because he was in them, too.

It had only been important in the beginning, because other people had something he didn't, and wasn't allowed in to see, and Newt and Thomas letting him know how much he was missing out. Newt kept saying it wasn't all that great, then lighting up whenever Thomas mentioned another perk. The new dorms had a private gym with a hot tub, and a kitchen they could actually use to make sandwiches and things when they wanted them, and weird dry packages of flavorings for water to make them taste like soda.

"They don't taste _like soda_ ," Newt said, sounding offended, crossing his foot casually over Minho's, under the table. "I mean – I guess, a little, if you squinted with your mouth."

"Right," Minho said, grinning. "I get it. Like soda, if it was gross."

Newt grinned back. Thomas was nearly as offended at the idea they were gross as Newt had been at the idea they weren't.

The new dorms had stopped being important because nothing else changed, after Minho upgraded. They still ate at normal times in the cafeteria, and had some of the same classes as the other Immunes, and ran into everyone else in the halls. But as the dormitory filled, their world became slowly closed off with their own classes, and small group tests, and both slowly and suddenly they were on their own.

 

\---

 

They were always being watched, outside of their rooms. Minho didn't find it creepy so much as he found it weird, but there was always a technician or a guard around. They watched quietly over tasks and tests that they never used to stand in on. Alby theorized to Newt, who passed it on to Minho later, that something had happened in the outside world.

They all treated the presence of the guards differently. Alby pretended they didn't exist, for the most part. Minho nodded friendly acknowledgment when he passed them, Gally watched them from the corner of his eye, and Newt kept his head down except when they were sitting away from them. Then Newt clearly payed a lot of attention to what they were doing, even if pretended he wasn't – really, the only reason Minho knew as much about their habits as he did is because he watched Newt. Thomas seemed like he knew the guards, easy and casual, but he never tried to introduce anyone to them.

 

\---

 

They'd been put under to have EEG monitors implanted sub-dermally, after a few weeks, to prep for longer-scale tests that would be ‘unsatisfactorily interrupted' by stopping to be monitored. Minho would have bought that wholesale before the guards, but it still seemed pretty reasonable. Gally didn't seem to think so, though he never more than started on a "what the _f--_ " before Newt grabbed his elbow in warning.

They all stood still for a minute, waiting for someone to notice Gally's almost outburst. When they didn't, the group relaxed.

"There's nothing to be gained," Alby said, quietly, "from drawing attention."

"We can all grow our hair, after," Minho said, looking on the bright side. As an aside, in an attempt to make Newt grin: "You won't be unique."

Newt glanced at him, puzzled and distracted. "Yeah, I guess."

 

\---

 

The first person to notice the extra cameras was Aris, who Minho was still convinced had to be nine at the most – he insisted he was eleven, but it really wasn't possible. There'd been a few cameras per hallway, before – now they were in regular intervals, WCKD having taken time during the Immunes' surgeries to install them.

They were given stricter curfew limits and fraternization rules were more heavily outlined. That irritated Minho, but not that much. He and Newt were already being careful with the guards around, only hanging out in groups, though they sort of drifted towards each other incidentally. Normally, Thomas even let them hang out in his room and talk (and, well, do other stuff within reason) because he was the only Immune other than Teresa who had headphones and music privileges. And Teresa was all right, but she wasn't really okay with breaking the rules.

He wasn't that irritated until he went into his room. In the corner was a camera, with coverage over his bed and desk and probably everything except the half-foot directly below it.

Minho stared at it. With no indication if it was on, or if anyone was watching from the other side, the camera stared back. Minho turned, silent, and left the room. He walked from room to room, glancing in through the doors until he found Newt, standing in the cafeteria, talking to Teresa.

"Minho?" Teresa asked, concerned, and Minho jerked a nod to her with a sort of smile.

"C'mon," he said, to Newt, and Newt glanced back to Teresa with a smile and said he'd see her at dinner.

He didn't ask, as he walked beside Minho down the corridors, but it was clear he wanted to – eyes darting to the side to watch him every few seconds, though his pace was casual. Minho tried to match Newt's easy-does-it calm, but he wasn't casual at all.

He carefully opened his room door, stepping in with it and holding it open for Newt.

Newt walked in and stared up at the camera, then to the floor. "All right," he murmured, and swallowed. "That's how it is, then." He turned and gave Minho something that wasn't anything like a smile, not really. "Sorry, Min."

Then he left.

"Newt!" Minho called, hushed, hanging out of his door as he did. Newt ignored him, not walking any faster, and went back to the cafeteria. Minho watched him, then went back into his room and closed the door behind him.

 

\---

 

They were taken for private tests mostly, now. Minho spent more time than he liked floating weightlessly in some sort of solution, with a headset that immersed him in different simulated scenarios: marketplaces, and weird romances, and war zones. It always left him sort of dazed and unreal-feeling, at least until he was back with a couple other Immunes. Gally was best at snapping him out of it, with how willing he was to start an argument after testing. Maybe they were the same tests – nobody talked about it.

Post-testing, Thomas would talk about random things, books he'd listened to, all in a mish-mashed jumble that never sounded like an actual plot. Newt mostly avoided everyone, except sometimes Alby or Teresa, sitting quietly at a corner table and leaving the cafeteria early. He had ever since he hauled off and slugged Gally maybe a week after the new testing started. Minho wasn't even sure what caused it – there wasn't a real yelling match or anything beforehand.

Minho wanted to go join them, but he couldn't. The gap was too big, and while he could sometimes swear he felt Newt looking at him, he never was when Minho checked. It was easier to let Thomas's rambling conversation, as often to Winston or Frypan or Teresa or Rachel as it was to Minho, wash over him. Gally would usually leave them halfway through lunch and wander over to Newt's table to sit, and ignore him in close proximity. It was easier not to look up at all, eventually, and get back to his room as soon as he could justify it.

Sometimes Thomas wasn't around to chat at him, and sometimes Teresa was gone, and – and they were the only ones who got a "sometimes," because everyone else who left didn't come back. Thomas was shy about it, if asked. _Extra testing_ , he said, _I don't know the specifics_.

Winston confided to Minho that he thought Thomas was worried he hadn't been chosen yet, and Minho smirked. He didn't think that was it, but also he didn't worry about it. _His_ table wasn't getting smaller.

Except today, there was a knock on his door, not ten minutes after he'd dug out his textbook. No one asked for homework, not anymore, but it was something to do when he couldn't leave his room.

"Yeah?"

The door opened and Newt slipped in, closing it gently behind him.

"Hey," he said, and he was really pale.

Minho stood up immediately. "What's wrong?"

Newt looked up at the camera and walked up to Minho until with his head ducked and shoulders slightly slouched he could be sure his mouth wasn't seen. Newt was still taller than him by a good inch, so that was pretty close. "Aris found a – a memo, or something. It said I'm Test 6, Male Subject 4."

Minho stared at him, not comprehending.

"C'mon. Alby, George, Bryan gone – that's me left, then. Number four."

"For—the advanced trials," Minho said, and that sounded so benign but he could feel his sublimated terror flare up as he said it.

"Yeah," Newt said. He reached forward, his hand stopping short of Minho's shoulder. "Look, I – I'm sorry, I know it puts you in danger, but can I –"

He made eye contact and he looked scared, and angry. Minho kissed him.

With that permission, Newt kissed back hard, making a quiet noise of relief at the back of his throat. Minho pulled him in, pushing his hands under Newt's shirt to slip around his back, Newt's fingers digging into his shoulders. It'd been a long five months before this, and – if Aris was right – this meant for a longer time after.

There was the sound of footsteps, and the door opened. They both went still, breaking off the kiss.

"Gentlemen," Smith said.

"Keep yourself alive," Newt said, letting go. Minho slowly unthreaded his arms. "And, uh. Don't let Gally do anything stupid."

The guard was coming closer. "I'll try," Minho said, and attempted a smile. Newt gave a slight shrug, accepting that, and turned to join the guards. His posture was deliberately relaxed.

Minho tucked his hands into his pockets and nodded briefly to the guards who hovered slightly before turning to go, clearly unsure of what to do with him. He watched Newt leave.

"There may have to be disciplinary action," said one of the guards.

Minho didn't look at him, staring at the empty doorway. "It's all right, sir. I won't kiss anyone else."

 

\-- 

 

Gally didn't seem to need looking after, at first. He was quiet – angry, and quiet, and he spent a lot of time staring at the table Newt used to sit at, brow drawn sharply in. But he didn't do anything, and let Minho sit next to him.

Admittedly, Minho wasn't in much of a position to look after anyone. He wasn't that – he was fine. But life outside the simulations and tests seemed only as real as life inside it, a little fuzzy at the edges like someone was about to ring the buzzer and take his vitals.

Maybe it was his promise that made him sleep lighter, between tests. It was certainly why when he heard yelling, he scrambled to his door and dragged it open. The lights were out in the hallway. Some sort of power break, but he could still hear the fight, the sounds of someone getting slammed repeatedly against a wall.

"Gally!" Minho said, making his way toward them. There was silence, for a moment, and pained breathing he could only place as Thomas's. "Gally, stop."

"They left," Gally said, reasonable, "and he came back. Alby, George, Bryan –" Thomas groaned and breathed out, sharply, with the sound of a thud as Gally kicked him.

"You're not going to help Newt," Minho said, "by killing Thomas."

"Fuck Newt," Gally spat out. "This is for me. He took my _friends_ and _sold them out_. He's a fucking _traitor_ \--"

Minho grabbed Gally around the middle in a bear hug and dragged him down and away. His legs kicked out as they hit the ground and he yelled incoherently.

The lights flickered back on. Minho glanced at Thomas, turning his head against Gally's chest. There was blood splashed on Thomas's clothes and all around him, leaking out his mouth, multiple bruises starting to swell.

"Thomas," he said, urgently, and Gally stilled.

Thomas moved his head, slightly, to look up at them. Minho breathed out heavily, not quite in relief.

"Gal, if I let you go –"

"I'll kill him," Gally said, calm and rational again. "I'm already screwed. No reason not to."

A door opened, carefully, and Frypan looked out. "Fuck!" he exclaimed, and Winston's door opened as well.

Carefully, they helped Thomas up, and dragged him to the infirmary, his breathing all sharp gasps.

Gally started to breathe raggedly, sort of crying, and Minho shifted off of him, sitting next to him and wrapping his arm tight around him in an anchoring hug until Security came.

 

 

**0.**

He's never really asleep. Or he never really _feels_ asleep, whichever one is more true, just too heavy to move as he lies against cold metal, feeling the floor move inexorably upwards. His eyelids are too heavy to open, at first, but they do part when the sun hits them.

There are people outside. Guys in their late teens, or maybe their twenties – anyway, the oldest one, a black guy, opens the top of the box he's in and offers him a hand.

After a long moment, he takes it, though once he's on the ground he drops back down to sit.

"Still feeling weak, are you?" a white guy with blond hair asks, and smiles. He looks tired. They all look tired, but at least they both look kind of friendly.

"Yeah. Yeah, where – who are you guys?"

"I'm Alby," the first one says, evenly. "This is Newt, and Gally." Alby waves a hand at the third person with them, who's watching him carefully. "Jeff and Frypan are out, working on stuff, but they'll be back for dinner. Who are you?"

He shrugs, uncertain, and winces at the tightness in his neck, hand going to massage it.

"That's normal," Newt says, and sits down next to him. "Most people don't remember their names right away, but it's pretty quick. Well, except –" He cut off, distracted. "I guess it's taken a couple days, before."

Alby gestures for Gally to help pull stuff out of the box, and he turns to watch them. "What is that?"

He almost feels Newt's shrug. "A box. It comes up every month, with a new guy and some supplies. We've got goats," he adds, suddenly cheerful, though it sounds like sincerity layered over exhaustion. "They came up last month. Real milk!"

"Real _pains_ ," Gally mutters from the box, where he's pulling out blankets, and clothes, and Newt laughs quietly.

"They get a little loud. Anyway, you get assigned to one of us for two months when you first show up. Get you acquainted with the place, learn what you have to do. It's my turn. Alby'll give you a tour," Newt says, and stands, looking down at him with slightly squinted eyes, to account for the light. "After that, come find me in the garden. We've got work."

He nods.

"Newt," Alby calls, and Newt looks over to him. Alby tosses something, a bag, and Newt grabs it out of the air with a _whumph_.

Newt looks in it, and huffs a laugh.

He doesn't know what's in the bag but he can't help but grin, too.

"Potatoes," he's told, conspiratorially. "That's the new project."

"Hey, new kid," Gally says. "Think you can help?"

"Yeah," he says, and stands. "What do you need?"

And he has no idea where he is, or who he is, or who these people are, but he thinks maybe he _can_ help. As he watches Newt leave, he thinks it might even be exciting.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this! I definitely had fun taking it as an excuse to watch Maze Runner and Scorch Trial 3+ times each, and playing around with ideas of what might have happened before. I really love both Minho and Newt, and how much their actors communicate their characters in what end up being action movies.
> 
> Happy Yuletide! I hope it goes awesomely for you, as well as anything else you might be celebrating this December. Have a hot/cold beverage (depending on your hemisphere) on me! :)


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